It's A Plague
by White Pontiac Heaven
Summary: Oneshot. "And it's a plague, this constant weight. It haunts my thoughts when you're away." Casey/Charlie, sort of E/C friendship.


an: _10/16/2012_ I've rewritten this oneshot, and it's a little different so feel free to re-read if you'd like. Takes place before Casey joined SVU, and is the night she mentioned in "Blinded". As usual, I don't have a beta. All mistakes are mine.

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize them, they don't belong to me. Song is "It's a Plague" by Progress in Color.

* * *

_And it's a plague, this constant weight. It haunts my thoughts when you're away.  
And would it be safe for one to say I made your heart smile at the end of the day?_

**...**_  
_

She learns quite fast. The lessons she's endured throughout her childhood have only proven that fact true. Life has always occurred in the blink of an eye, faster than she has ever had time to dwell on it. Her parents' marital troubles, the early end of her sibling's short existence... life has always unraveled too fast, and she sails through undetected . She's grown to be a distant woman, one who knows what she wants but will not acquire such things. She plays her part as a lover, but knows well enough it's only her role.

She doesn't know what the real deal is. She doesn't know where to look, or if she already has it. Maybe Charlie Whitmore is the one. She is believably attached to him, despite his disease. Perhaps she is to help him control his problem, because God knows he will never overcome it. She watches his deterioration daily, as it's become all she can do. She figures that, when it comes down to it, his refusals all come back to her. She's never been an extraordinary actor, and it's why the orange pill bottles remain full and untouched above the bathroom sink.

Casey can't begin to comprehend her fiancee's nightmares. She doesn't understand that to have a thought, it takes all of his might. That on the drug, he's two breaths short of nonexistence. Communication is the key that's been dropped on 83rd and kicked into the sewer. Her efforts are futile. How she's expected to tell him anything further than "take your meds" is beyond her. And he can't find the words to tell her he still adores her.

He's been gone for three days now, three days she's spent sick to her stomach. Three days she's thought of what will happen, what's happened to him since he's been gone. She wonders what his temperament will be like when he sneaks through the front door. She isn't blind; she knows he hasn't been taking his medication for weeks. She sits atop her bathroom counter, wishing she could go about her morning routines without her reflection staring back at her.

Today is different, she notes. It doesn't feel safe, not that she knows that feeling anyway. She's been wary of this day, though she doesn't know why. She's wary often. His demons declaring war against his conscience have put her at the tip of a cliff. Today seems to be ridden with change. Perhaps, this is the day she falls.

Her brother had offered his words of weed-laced wisdom one evening in their front yard. It had been dark and only a little chilly. "_Inevitability is a presumption. You can accept it, or fight it."_

She had been too young and sober to take him seriously. But she uses it now as reassurance. She has control, and her messes are to be on her terms, on her command. If only it were that easy, she thinks.

Her reflection in the mirror seems unscathed at first, and then she digs deeper. Casey sees the hidden scars and the fork in the road. The left side goes on and on, miles of untouched and unknown soil. On the right, she can't see past the trees, but she is almost certain the path ends. No road should end.

The creak of the front door closing causes her to jump. Her heart pounds against her rib cage as it always does; Charlie has made her a nervous wreck. She isn't sure when it was she became so nervous around him, or why. He's never done anything to physically hurt her, though an outsider may believe otherwise with the way she becomes stiff at his touch. The old sense comfort she once had with him begins to dwindle away. She fears it's for good this time.

Charlie is quiet, and she pushes herself off of the counter and to the floor to peek around the corner. He's stands still as his eyes scan the room. He realizes this is his home, and seems to relax his shoulders a little. It's when she comes to face him that he grows tense.

"Charlie," She moves to him as if he's a spooked horse. "Where have you been? I've missed you."

"Who are you?" He begins to back away, and she brings her arms close to her chest before coming to a stop."What're you doing in my house?"

"Charlie it's me, Casey." He gives a blank stare. "We're getting married in the fall… How can you not remember?" Her voice is shaky and she's hurt by this. She knows it isn't his fault, but it doesn't make any difference, the heartache's still there.

"'Why are you here?" He shouts at her as he moves closer. "You can't! Did they send you?" She doesn't know how to respond to his incoherency, nor does she know what to do when she realizes he has her backed into a wall. He pins her wrists, squeezes with all his might. She won't lie and say it doesn't hurt, but she can't bring herself to do anything. Fear has struck harder than he can grip her neck.

In the midst of their struggle, the glass of her coffee table is shattered when she manages to knock him into it. Mortified, she brings a hand to her lips when he doesn't get up. She doesn't check on him, doesn't move from her spot in front of him and the shards of glass. After an anxious minute or two, his eyes open and she feels the need to step back from him.

Neither know what they're doing anymore. He stumbles out the front door and she exhales. She hadn't been aware she was holding her breath.

Charlie hurries out into the street, breathing in the warm night air as two uniforms hustle past him and into the building he's certain he won't be returning to.

**...**

Officer Mike Barnette follows close behind his partner, Ray Peterson as they respond to a call inside 4th Avenue's west apartment building. The two exchange casual banter until they reach Ms. Tracey's apartment on the sixth floor. The sweet old lady tells them of the ruckus coming from next door, and that it had stopped a few minutes ago. She tells them what she heard, and they thank her before knocking on apartment F4.

Peterson is greeted by a familiar face, and Barnette struggles to find her name.

Casey says nothing as she opens the door. She's quite embarrassed. They know each other from baseball, Barnette realizes. It's always lawyers against cops, and when Casey Novak is on the team, it's neck and neck. Cops usually end up losing by a hair. Just as well, the trio likes to grab drinks every now and then, purely for the sake of going out.

"You okay, Novak? What the hell happened here?" Officer Peterson asks, looking her up and down. She isn't horribly battered, but there's enough on her to prove something unpleasant had occurred.

"Nothing that requires your attention, guys." Casey can handle her own, she has common sense and she's smart enough to know that it's over between she and Charlie, though she finds it hard to admit. Before she can completely shut the door, Barnette stops it with his foot.

"Someone put their hands on you, and we're not leaving until they're in custody." His voice is firm, but her's is final.

"It was a mistake. I'm not pressing charges, Mikey. It's done and over with and I don't need you two looking for someone that's long gone." It hurts her to know this is the truth, that it has been all along.

Barnette sighs.

"At least get checked out, we'll take you to St. Vincent's," He offers, but she only shakes her head.

"I'm alright. And I'd appreciate it if you kept this between us." She looks at the both of them and gets away with shutting the door.

Casey takes a deep breath, ignoring the sore feeling in her throat, and her heart. In her mess of a living room, she finds a photo of Charlie. He's smiling back at her, and she doesn't like that anymore. The photograph becomes one of the many things she dubs trash as she cleans up the room.

As obstinate as she is, she knows she's lost this fight. She's let him down.

She's let them down.

She scoffs at herself when she thinks of vowing "in sickness and in health" to him. Her attempt to help him has been miserable, and it's undeniably stupid on her part to have even the slightest bit of hope for them. She's failed somewhere down the line and there's no going back.

She tries to reassure herself with the notion of people falling in and out of love, and how common it is. But this isn't the same, she thinks, because there is no in and out. Just insanity. It's a strange pain she feels, one that is weighted down with exhaustion and a bitter sense of acceptance.

It is what it is, she thinks.

**...**

She doesn't realize she's nearly dozed off on her couch until a sharp knock on the door stirs her. It's closing in on an hour since the uniformed acquaintances had been at her door, and she can't see them returning. She hesitates until the second knock, and decides to scoot off the couch. She finds she doesn't recognize the man on the other side of the door.

"I'm Detective Stabler, with the Special Victims Unit," He introduces himself and she isn't a happy camper. He knows that face, and the hoarse voice – it isn't too long ago that he came across them.

"Who called you?" Her voice is strong and he finds it to be a little intimidating, just a little.

"Ma'am–" She cuts him off because she knows he'll simply jump around the question.

"I didn't call SVU; I didn't call anybody, so you can leave."

"You know I can't do that, not until you tell me what happened." He's nods to the arm she's leaning against the door, and the bruises circling her wrist. Her hair is hiding the ones on her neck, but as she tilts her head in annoyance, they become visible. He's trying to remember when he saw her, and where. And more importantly, he's trying to figure out the cause of her damage.

"Like I told the officers before you, nothing that concerns you. It's been taken care of, detective."

"Ya know, for a lawyer," Elliot Stabler itches the bridge of his nose, remembering Assistant District Attorney Casey Novak. "You're not being very persuasive." He crosses his arms over his chest. He knows her from the baseball league. The two go up against each other often.

"Excuse me?" She's a little dumbfounded. He's been at her door less than five minutes and he's suddenly full of facts she never told him.

"Seven to Nine, lawyers won. You got a killer swing." He states matter-of-factly.

It all comes back to her, and she remembers the detective from a game three weeks ago. Short stop, she had knocked him to the ground so hard the man was out before he ever left second base. She remembers that game now, and how he had become her own little challenge.

A look spreads across her face, one that says she'd rather not be here right now, but she knows she has no choice. He gives a small smile in understanding.

"So how'd that happen?" He gestures towards her neck now. She only sighs and steps aside, inviting him in her home.

"I don't know." She answers once the door is shut.

"Casey..." He chooses her first name hoping it'll have some sort of comforting affect on her, but clearly he isn't about to accept her answer.

"This is so embarrassing." She admits with a bitter laugh. "One minute I'm in love with a man who cried at the end of Ol' Yeller. And the next..." She pauses, finding it hard to speak. "and the next he's trying to kill me."

He watches her teeth scrape her bottom lip and waits for her to breathe before asking his final question. "Where is he?"

She shrugs. "In his own little world."

He makes the mistake of presuming she is a victim. He finds it hard to believe someone as strong-willed as she can end up in a situation like this.

"He was diagnosed with Schizophrenia last year." She continues. "Nothing had changed in the beginning, but I assume that was because his medication hadn't really kicked in yet. When it did, he was gone in almost every sense of the word." She knows he wants more, that this little bit doesn't explain everything. But she is a private person and she prefers to keep these matters to herself.

"He went off his meds." Elliot finishes for her, having heard this story before during his days on patrol. She nods.

"I can't believe I've failed him." She says to herself. She paces with her hands on her hips and keeps her emotions in check.

"You did what you had to, Casey. You have to save yourself."

"Who's going to save him?"

**...**

_I know my songs were never profound; they were never sincere enough to make your heart sing out.  
So where am I wrong in hoping that I might someday realize where I was all along?  
And what, what was hidden behind your eyes? Was it love, or pain in disguise?  
I know my love never took that away.  
I know my love was just a plague._


End file.
